The following poem is a sonnet—sort of. A sonnet’s theme is one inspired by love and natural beauty. This poem has a sonnet form however the message is a little twisted.
If you have any questions or comments, e-mail me at larryspiro@aol.com and include permission to publish if you are so inclined.
Cut Flowers
Lawrence Spiro 2024
The cuts were made with rusted shear.
She shows no pain nor sheds a tear.
The wind around the flowers there
pleasing bouquet and beauty fair.
She sits under the table lamp,
removed from roots soiled and damp,
a young and beautiful treasure
for giver moment of pleasure.
You are not meant too long a stay.
A propped up love seen for today.
Petals fall begin the morrow,
aged, depleted leaving sorrow.
Bending wilt without measured will
in the water stained stagnant still.
**********************************************
Purple Haze
by Willow DuBrovin
A body lifts afloat,
perhaps it is mine.
If it is,
my mind stays anchored
to the crumbling ground
beneath my sight.
Beneath my keyboard,
as I type.
Wallowing walls
curve inward and
pry onto me with might.
Walls once white
now share a violet hue
as the rest of my world,
a world once blue.
If I am still
on this world at all.
A haze I took of purple
hues to escape this
never ending fall.
I thought it would be
quick to leave
as it came,
this purple game
days later refuses
to leave, only to maim
my purple hazed brain.
Did I rhyme yet?
My poem is purple and yellow
and filled with threats
and this poem I beset
with purple words
of purple worlds
and yellow birds.
A poem with no point
besides to anchor my brain
in this acid rain
of violet rays from
yellow days
and stuck amaze
in this purple haze.
Did I rhyme yet?
